


Wrong Door

by Vcxahlia



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 10:39:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2225985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vcxahlia/pseuds/Vcxahlia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has never been more happy to accidentally knock on the wrong door ever.</p>
<p>For my friend of-imlandris on tumblr, who prompted me with "Steve/Bucky - knocking on the wrong door au" on a list of au prompts I had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong Door

Nat hadn’t mentioned having a roommate, or a roommate other than Clint anyway, so Steve wasn’t sure what was going on when he knocked on the door of Apartment 9 and a man answered it. A man who wasn’t Clint. A man who was tall with broad shoulders and dark hair and piercing blue eyes. A man whose smile was doing strange things to Steve’s stomach and making him feel light headed. Or maybe he was just coming down with something. Again. Such were the perils of being a sickly asthmatic who weighed ninety pounds soaking wet.

"You lost, kid?" the guy asked, and Steve felt his hackles rising. He hated when people talked down to him. He was twenty-six years old, and this guy didn’t look much older than he was. He wasn’t a damn kid.

"I’m not a damn kid."

"You sure?" The guy peered down at him, looking more amused than anything. "Because you’re kind of a pipsqueak."

As much as Steve really did want to punch the guy, he knew he had to meet with Natasha and she’d never let him live it down if she had to fish him out of a dumpster. Again. Also, Clint would laugh. Because Clint was a dick. He needed better friends.

"I’m sure," he said. "You sure you aren’t an idiot?"

"Don’t have any proof," the guy said with a shrug. And that wasn’t cute or charming or anything. It wasn’t. Who cared if he still had that stupid smile on his awful face.

"Look," Steve said after a moment. "Do you know where Natasha Romanoff is? She told me she was in Apartment 9, but I guess I misheard her."

"Apartment…" The guy trailed off with a laugh. "Look, 9’s down the hall." He gestured to the door and pushed the gold number so it swung around into a 6. "I keep fixing the damn thing, but it’s a stubborn piece of shit. Sorry about that."

"Oh," Steve said, feeling a little disappointed that the conversation would be ending now. Even if the guy was kind of a jerk, it had been nice talking to someone new. "I guess I should get going then. Don’t want to keep Nat waiting."

"Yeah," the guy said. "Of course." He seemed to hesitate for a second, then squared his shoulders. For a second, Steve worried that he wanted to pick a fight. "I’m Bucky," he said at last. "Do you maybe want to come by on purpose some time? Or…go somewhere else?"

Steve frowned, wondering if he’d misheard. Or hallucinated that. People didn’t just ask him out. He was scrawny and sick all the time and definitely wasn’t what most guys were looking for. But the guy must have misunderstood his frown, because his smile faded and he looked down.

"Uh…nevermind," he said. "Stupid idea. I’m sure you’ve got other stuff to do…don’t want to keep you or-"

"I’m Steve," he interrupted in a rush, before he could talk himself out of it. "And…that sounds really…swell." Swell? Who the heck said swell? Was this the 1940’s all of a sudden? God, he was terrible at this. Bucky was definitely going to change his mind.

But Bucky just seemed charmed, laughing and shooting him a grin. “Great,” he said. “Let me just…” He grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled something on it, then handed it to Steve. It was a number. “Call me sometime, why don’t you?”

Steve nodded, barely able to contain his smile. He slipped the number into his pocket and probably would have skipped to Nat’s if he hadn’t been worried about tripping and falling.

"What the fuck’s wrong with your face?" Clint asked, once he was settled on their couch.

"It’s called smiling," Nat said with a roll of her eyes that had clearly been perfected with a great deal of practice at Clint’s expense. "Not everyone spends their time perfecting their resting murder face. But what’s got you so happy, Steve?"

Steve just smiled. “Went to the wrong apartment.”


End file.
